


Everyday miracles

by Fatale (femme)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-11
Updated: 2006-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	Everyday miracles

Fic: Everyday miracles (House/Wilson) PG

 

 

 

"You look like hell," Wilson observed mildly as House came through the doors.

"Until I save up enough money for a visit from Candy again, I'll probably stay like this."

"Candy the -"

"Prostitute," House finished.

"Ah," Wilson said and tucked his pen back into his shirt before grabbing his clipboard to follow House. "You could, you know, find someone you don't have to pay."

"What's the fun in that?"

Wilson threw up his hands in disgust and narrowly missed throwing a clipboard full of papers at the waiting room. "I don't know, maybe genuine love and affection?"

"It's hard finding love," House said. "And I don't know what to do with the loneliness."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm not that gullible."

"It would have worked on Cameron," House said with a shrug. "Although," he made a right turn towards the men's restroom, "it is hard finding a good woman to love me. I'm crippled, you know."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Funny, I caught that, too," House said as he pushed through the door. When Wilson didn't follow, he stuck his head out. "Coming?"

"Why not? We share everything else."

"Not everything. There's a reason I need the lovely Candy."

"Don't pretend like you want me," Wilson said, trying to ignore the fact that Greg was unzipping his pants not four feet away.

"Maybe I do," House said conversationally. "Maybe, my love for you is manifesting itself as love for hookers, did you think of that?"

Wilson took a step back to turn on the water. "No, and I never want to think about it again."

"You wouldn't date me?"

"What?" Wilson asked, at a loss. "When did this turn into discussion about dating?"

"When you said you didn't want to date me." House zipped up his pants and flushed. "I have feelings, too."

"True, and they can usually be cured by Vicodin."

"Harsh, dude," House said and washed his hands.

"I wouldn't not date you," Wilson said, hesitantly.

"Is that an offer?"

"What if it is?"

"Pick me up at eight," House said, heading towards the door. "And be sure to buy me pretty flowers."

 

 

***

 

 

Confusion was generally the first and last feeling he had around House, but he was getting used to that. Today was worse than usual, though: Today, he had a date. A maybe, kind of date.

It made sense, the two of them. He hadn't been able to make a marriage work and House hadn't been able to make _anything_ work.

What he never told anyone was that he liked his job because he was good at it and because it was wholly predictable. It offered a kind of stability that he'd long ago never expected in any other area of his life. Except for House; he offered his own brand of stability. Now he wanted to change everything and Wilson didn't know what to do. He could handle weeping women from accounting or fed-up nurses who were looking for a shoulder to cry on. How to deal with a cantankerous middle-aged baby was another.

He wondered if House was really serious about the flowers.

 

 

***

 

 

Before he could knock, the door opened and House stood in front of him, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Hello, lover."

Wilson licked his lips. "Doesn't that usually come after dinner?"

"What can I say? I'm cheap." House locked the door behind him and followed him towards the car.

He was probably the most dressed up Wilson had ever seen him, which was to say, not very. A jacket, nice slacks, no tie and...tennis shoes. Wilson rolled his eyes and opened the door to his car. "Need help?"

House glared at him, which wasn't effective since he did it so often. "I'm not a-" The words died before they passed his lips, but they both knew what he was going to say. _I'm not a cripple_. But he was.

Wilson ducked his head, not sure how to handle this. It was funny, he could tell patients they were going to die without batting an eye, but he didn't know how to approach his best friend.

"Forget it, forget all of this," House muttered and turned back towards his home, then stopped. And sniffed. "Do I smell flowers?"

Wilson scratched his neck uncomfortably. "It was stupid," he said and reached into the backseat and pulled out a full bouquet of flowers he'd had the florist throw together at the last minute for a tidy sum. He shook his head.

For a moment, House looked flabbergasted. "Nice flowers," he said finally.

"Thanks."

"Look expensive."

"They were."

"Guess I'm not so cheap."

Wilson smiled. "No, worth 100 million, I'd say."

"Cuddy already used that line to try to get into my pants. Try again." House began heading back, his cane making soft thuds as it hit the sidewalk. "But while you're at it, you might as well come in."

"What about our date that wasn't a date?"

"Who said it's over?"

"You did," Wilson pointed out.

"Well, I lied. I decided we're past the awkward small-talk phase." He paused. "And bring the flowers."

House motioned for Wilson to follow him and Wilson did because he couldn't remember a time when House had led him astray. Maybe, he thought, he could even trust House in this. After all, House had his own way of working everyday miracles.

 

 

END.


End file.
